A Lonely String
by Gaerdir
Summary: December 25, 1997. Harry is captured along with Hermione at Godric's Hollow. September 2, 2003. Harry Potter unlocks the "power the Dark Lord knows not", but at a great personal price. Eventually, Voldemort is defeated, but Harry is not even close to be satisfied. He will find who is behind all this... whether the world burns on the way or not. In progress.
1. Prologue: Unleashed

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**A Lonely String**

**Prologue: Unleashed**

_By Gaerdir_

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"You only exchange the shackles on your body for shackles on your mind."

– _The Book of Regret_

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_September 2, 2003_

_Malfoy Manor_

Lucius Malfoy awoke in the middle of the night, his peaceful repose disturbed by some sixth sense, niggling at the edges of his troubled mind. He glanced at his lovely wife, made even more beautiful with the worries of the day non-existent, smoothing out the lines in her face.

He sighed. The game of politics and blood superiority had dealt a heavy blow to the dream of the lifestyle they hoped to live with their son. Now, all that occupied them was staying alive in the murky of water of the Death Eater forces, and trying to keep their naïve son away from the whole mess. The Dark Lord was like a whirlpool; once you get sucked into his little games of pleasure, it was hard to escape without drawing immediate attention.

The blonde-haired Death Eater turned to get off the bed, his feet slipping into worn silky night slippers as he got up, ready to go check on the state of his 'precious prisoners', and to make sure his sister-in-law wasn't causing a mayhem again.

A few moments later, he stepped out of his walk-in wardrobe, clad in his usual day attire, complete with the polished yew cane with a silver dragon head instilled at the top. He was greeted by the pleasing form of his half-asleep wife, who was silently staring at him, and imploring him to come to bed.

He shook his head silently, and held up both hands, telling her he would return in ten minutes, at most. She rolled her eyes, pouted in a way that got his blood racing, and then shrugged and turned away. Lucius sighed again, before stepping out of the room, his boots quietly clicking against the hardwood floor, along with the soft thump of his cane.

He checked his sister-in-law's room first, barely managing to disable the protective wards she had added around it. A Flesh-Eating curse flew by him as he entered the room, and he thought for a moment that Bellatrix Lestrange was within, waiting for him like a predator of the night, or like a spider that had entangled a fly in its web.

But she wasn't. Which meant only one thing.

She was downstairs, playing with the prisoners.

Lucius sighed, and pinched his nose, his eyes shut.

Was he the only one with any sense in this house?

XXX

Lucius walked slowly down the marble stairs of his home, trying to not wake any other 'guests' as he made his way down to the foyer of his mansion, cursing Bellatrix the whole way. He strode across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand, tip alight, held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force against the oppressive darkness that surrounded him. He clambered down a steep flight of stairs. At the bottom was a heavy door. Lucius opened it with a tap of his wand, and stepped into the magically enlarged space, closing the door with a soft _whump _behind him.

He raised his wand higher, and began to walk slowly down the narrow corridor, looking for signs that a cell had been opened and a silencing ward had been set up. Lucius ignored the grubby hands reaching out to him with fingernails jagged and broken from hours of scratching the walls that imprisoned them. Lucius sighed as he came to the inevitable conclusion… Bellatrix had gone directly to the prisoners that the Dark Lord had told them to break. He hurried down the corridor, deciding to bring his sister-in-law to her senses before she caused some irreversible damage.

Bellatrix was swiping a blade clean of blood as Lucius rushed in.

"Bella, what the hell d'you think you're doing?" Lucius all but shouted.

"Cleaning up the trash! Since we can't change her blood…" She looked with disgust at the silent form on the ground before her. "I'm just trying to clean everything else up."

"You…?" It was then that Lucius paused and looked closer at the prisoner. _Her blood? _Chills raced down his spine.

It was the Mudblood… Granger. But all her hair had been shaved off, and her earrings seemed to have been roughly ripped out, leaving bleeding gashes. Her clothing was all but gone, only enough to cover her modesty. But what scared Lucius the most was the fact that she was slobbering mindlessly on the ground. He bent down and grabbed an arm to wrench her up and drag her to the smaller sideroom where the rest of them were kept.

But he recoiled in disgust when not hot clammy skin met his hand, but slippery, bloody flesh.

Then he realized what Bellatrix had been doing with the blade.

She must have seen the horrified expression on his face because she started cackling madly before grabbing his arm roughly and pulling him forcibly to the prisoners' sideroom; ironically, she did it in the same way he had been about to do the Mudblood.

"Wait till you see what I've done to our resident hero, Lucius!" She cackled.

"Bella… I hope you remembered that he isn't to be killed! The Dark Lord wants him broken to showcase to the public, not dead!"

"I know, Lucy! I didn't kill him… I just wanted to see how long his blood would run for a day!"

Lucius swallowed the bile rising from his gut as the stench of feces, vomit, urine and unkempt bodies assaulted his nose as they drew nearer to the closed door. Lucius wrenched his arm from his sister-in-law's grip, before drawing his wand, and slowly pushing the door open.

He ducked, barely dodging the outstretched hands of an obviously insane Ron Weasley, who was rudely rebuffed by Bellatrix, back against the wall in the small room, hitting it with a sickening _crunch_. His vacant smile never left his face.

Lucius shuffled in, his worries compound at the sight of an obviously severely damaged Weasley family all moaning or crumpled silently against the walls.

The young woman, however, just twenty two years old, was staring transfixed at the far wall, muttering under her breath continuously. Lucius followed her gaze and blanched, looking away.

"Good Lord… Bella… what have you done?" He said, shocked.

"Nothing really… I kept him alive… I just wanted to see how long boy heroes bled…" She whined insanely.

Lucius took a deep breath and looked again.

Harry Potter had been nailed to the wall. In four places, the middle of his palms and the middle of his feet… It seemed as though Bellatrix had been torturing him in this room instead of moving him out. She had cut various shallow designs into his skin, and had somehow kept them from scabbing over. There were a couple of deep wounds on his arms and chest, but nothing too life threatening… as long as she made sure he had enough blood.

"It's really funny when I do this." She cackled before hurling her silver dagger right at the prone savior, aiming for his stomach.

It hit its target with a soft _thunk_ and lay imbedded there, with no visible reaction from Harry Potter.

"He usually screams long and hard… It's such a delightful noise!" Bellatrix said, confused.

Lucius Malfoy sensed danger approaching, and warily, he looked back at the man Bellatrix was whining about. His eyes widened.

"Bella… he's not supposed to be able to perform any kind of magic in here, is he?"

"Of course not! The Dark Lord warded the place himself!"

"Then… why is there power gathering around him?"

Bella looked confused at his question.

"Pay attention, you daft woman! Get him to stop!"

But they both felt that upsurge of power as he spoke, and as one, their eyes snapped to their prisoner. Lucius managed to utter a small prayer for his wife and son as he turned to meet the suddenly powerful being near them.

The gathering power grew in a crescendo, and then in one defining moment, stood, billowing out in a display of pure strength, before it disappeared.

Harry Potter's glowing green eyes opened, promising death.


	2. Playing With Fire

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**Chapter One: Playing With Fire**

_By Gaerdir_

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"Guilt is heaviest with a survivor."

– _The Book of Regret_

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_January 3, 2004_

_Godric's Hollow_

He thought it would have been obvious where he would go when it was all over.

Impregnated clouds hung over the overcast skies, adding to the poignancy of the moment. It seemed it had been decades since his last visit a few years ago. He was no longer the guilt free teenager seeking salvation from his strenuous task.

He was now a man, a man whose conscience continually pulled him down, a mental warfare whose battleground was splattered with the blood of hundreds of comrades. His hands were splotched with guilt. His head was bent and heavy with regret.

He had expected jubilance upon victory. Glee that was unattainable by any other means other than completing your one mission in life.

How naïve he had been when he was just a few short years younger.

Harry walked past the same fence, resisting the urge to touch it and witness its wondrous magic again, a testament unharmed by time. There would be time for that later.

The streets were strangely absent of any life whatsoever. No sapling grew from the odd crack in the asphalt. Bathilda Bagshot's grisly murder must have struck terror into the little village.

Bathilda Bagshot… It was strange that such an underdeveloped town could be home to events that shaped history…

Harry kicked open the gate to the cemetery. Rusty, it moved erratically before finally screeching to a halt, dangling precariously on its ancient hinges. Corrosion had eaten away the foundations of the gate. It had once been a proud entrance, Harry could tell that much. It was now reduced to a dissipating shadow of its former self. That wouldn't do.

"_Reparo!_" he intoned.

The door seemingly gained a mind of its own for a few seconds. It straightened, bringing its long broken top socket to its corresponding hinge. Metal flowed over, resealing the gate into its original position. The paint reformed, bringing alive the fence with brilliant hues that had long since faded.

It stood out, paranormal among its mundane surroundings.

Harry tested the gate, and then wiped his palms on his jeans. Glancing quickly around, he strode towards the gravestones.

Hermione wasn't with him this time. Conjuring up flowers, he gently placed them in front of his mother's and father's graves. He knelt gently in front of the white stones, on the packed soil.

"I did it," he said, pausing as though the simple statement had taxed his oratory powers.

"I did it. I killed the Dark Lord. Your murderer. This should be a time of widespread joy and celebrations. And it is. The news is spreading, and the oppression the people felt…" He paused. "For most people. I, Harry Potter, the 'Chosen One', lived up to the expectations. I rid the world of the dark plague that had been corrupting it for decades. I've ensured that the children of the witches and wizards of our day will have children with long lives. Only–" he paused again, "Only there will be fewer kids this time around."

A mourning wind blew, arousing the newly born leaves of the trees with its lamentations. The silence around Harry escalated into Nature's own orchestrated symphony.

"Maybe you know that already. I don't even know if you can see things from up there, or if you can even hear me now. But I was sick of being used by Dumbledore, and I let my hot head get in the way. Rationality gave way to impulses. Impulses led to mistakes. And mistakes led to deaths. Others tell me that I am not to blame. It was Voldemort's doing that removed the innocent students that were yet to strike a chord in the universe. Through my rebellion against wrong, I doomed children of Hogwarts to horrific deaths before they could grow to fully-fledged men and women, masters in their own chosen fields. I feel like that I sacrificed the future to save the present. Is that right? Is that wrong? Can anyone even answer that question? Perhaps their deaths were not my fault, yet I still feel the weight of each one."

"In my own way, I am just as viable to be prosecuted as any Death Eater." A humorless chuckle. "The Ministry seems to want that. Apparently, if I have political ambitions, my popularity 'may cause a severe disruption in the proceedings of the ministry.' I'm being followed, chased everywhere, no time to myself, no personal bubble to languish in."

Harry was now rubbing the dirt, penetrating its uppermost soil with his finger.

"At times I wonder, why me? Why should I be the one with my parents dead? Why should I have survived? Why couldn't I die? And suddenly Dumbledore appears in my head: 'Everything that has occurred has been pre-ordained. You are a part of a greater plan, Harry,' he says. What greater plan? Why was the manipulative old coot in my head? My friends are dead. I just want to be left alone now. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?"

Harry took a several deep breaths. "There is too much burden on me and too few by my side. Everything that has happened to me seems planned, and I need to find out who's at the bottom of this."

_And so…_, Harry thought. _I have another mission… Perhaps it was meant to be. But meant to be according to whom?_

He suddenly wished Hermione was still alive, more than ever. She had been his level-headed friend, helping him work his way out of the shady corners of his mind…but that was fantasy, wishes that Nagini had ruined on their visit.

They had been captured and tortured, and soon the rest of the Weasley family was with them, suffering the pain of the Cruciatus a thousand times over, along with various inventive Muggle torture methods. For a pureblood, Bellatrix had been quite knowledgeable. In his delirium, he had lost control over his tightly bound magic. He snapped to his senses, but it was too late. His magic had cried for the blood of sacrifice, and it had received it. He had fallen unconscious after the episode, but woke up to find his prison destroyed and his enemies broken.

He had also found the shattered, bleeding bodies of his loved ones, of his fellow prisoners, who never even stood a chance.

It had been then that the realization hit him. His magic had done this. _He _had done this. What sort of monster was he?

_For Hermione… For Ron… For the Weasleys… And for Ginny… I must find out who planned this. At any cost._

_Even if the world burns. I will find out. They _unleashed _me. It's time they realize that you can't play with fire… without getting burned._

Unbidden, the memory of his encounter in his mind came to him. He had sunk to the lowest pits of despair, his body wracked with disgust at what he had been forced to do to ensure his survival. Somehow, the thought of joining them entered his mind, and from there, it took root, and grew everywhere, occupying his thoughts almost completely until one day…

But he hadn't died, his magic had weakened the Cutting Curse just enough for him to survive. But he had an unwelcome visitor waiting for him in his head. The old coot himself.

"_There are many categories for a wizard to be in, Harry. Not many know this, as they are hardly released to the public, but the lowest category is 'Squib', and the highest is 'Warlock'."_

_Dumbledore took a deep breath._

"_But that is not the limit, Harry. If a wizard feels the pain of killing a loved one with his own hand, his magic unlocks a natural limitation on his potential. He becomes a Mage, Harry. And there are classifications in this type of magical being as well. I am a mere Mage, level four. You, my dear boy, through your actions tonight, have become an Archmage. The highest level of power possible, right above an Arcane Sorcerer, level one."_

"_With the sacrifice of your dearest friends and family, you have gained the power to defeat Voldemort."_

"_But you have a greater purpose, Harry. All this has been done for a reason. It has all been pre-ordained. You are part of a greater plan, Harry."_

Harry stayed silent for a while longer; fuming internally, before he stood, cloak swirling ominously.

"Whoever you are," he spat out loud, "You made a grave mistake when you messed with me and mine. Hear this, puppeteer. I will find you. I will make you pay for every death you have added to my burden. I will find out why. And then, I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. And you will _suffer_. This I promise you."

Harry's eyes glowed with restrained power, before he simply disappeared, going to the one place he knew might hold important information.

XXX

The Leaky Cauldron was normally a lively pub, being the main entrance to Diagon Alley and a long-standing fixture in Magical Britain's backdrop. _Everyone_ knew the Leaky Cauldron. It was especially famous for its comfortable rooms, and handy service.

The barkeeper, Tom, he had been part of the Leaky Cauldron for nearly his entire life, but he had never seen it as empty as it had been today.

_Damn Dark Lord_, he thought viciously, wiping down the bar counter, _messing around with my customers. I've only got one left upstairs now. The rest don't even bother to come now._

The door opened with a bang, startling Tom from his bitter thoughts.

A gaggle of excited wizards and witches rushed in, chattering and increasing the noise levels in the pub to heights it hadn't seen in over ten years. Tom continued to wipe the bar, puzzling over the sudden crown when an obviously drunk middle-aged wizard walked up to him with a lopsided grin on his face.

"Ya hearrrrd the newsss, Tooom?" He stretched out his words, grinning.

The entire bar became as silent as it had been before the crowd entered; the atmosphere was tense, as if they were waiting for something to happen before they acted.

"No, not at all... why? What happened?" Tom asked, curious.

The bar seemed to draw in a breath before the wizard spoke.

"Heeee-Who-Muuust-Not-Be-Naaaamed… he's been defeated."

The bar erupted once again, home to noise levels that hadn't been heard since that fateful night around twenty three years ago. Tom struggled to make himself heard above the noise.

"Who did it? Do you know who did it?"

The bar paused again as his question made its way around.

"Why… that Potter boy of course! I was there! I saw it with me own eyes!" The wizard answered.

"A round of Firewhiskey, and Butterbeer for the young 'uns, Tom! On me tonight!" An older, more distinguished looking wizard shouted from the back.

Tom grinned. "Coming right up, Frederick! We have many things to celebrate for tonight!"

As the barkeeper left, he could hear the wizard who had told him the news begin to get pestered with incessant questions about what had happened in the battle. Tom began to chuckle. After the bar was closed up, he would go tell his guest the news.

He wanted to see if the young man would be scared… or defiant.

XXX

Harry materialized in Diagon Alley, making sure to keep to the shadows to avoid the obviously excited mobs roaming excitedly in the now lively looking magical shopping district. He snorted.

_Sheep_, he thought angrily. _Cower until someone else takes care of the problem for them… and then celebrate like they'd been freed from suffering. Any moment, some smart-arse bastard of a politician will get the smart idea of blaming me for the 'loss of promising magical talent', and throwing me in jail. And then they'll all continue with their lives like nothing had happened for the last 10 years._

The Ministry of Magic had been very accommodating when they first heard he had gotten rid of the 'magical terrorist' who had been 'holding Magical Britain hostage'. They bestowed an Order of Merlin, First Class on him in front of the Minister himself, and had also added a hefty sum into his already full vault. They had added a portrait of him in the Ministry, and even offered him a sponsored position at Hogwarts, or a high-end job in the Ministry itself. But when he refused to take a job… the Minister for Magic was quick to warn him.

"_I hope you don't plan on running for the position of Minister or a seat in the Wizengamot, Potter. Not only would I be sure to lose, but your popularity would cause severe disruptions in the proceedings of the Ministry. And we can't afford to get no work done!"_

Harry had half-chuckled and assured the slimy ex-Auror that he wasn't planning on entering active politics any time soon.

But inside, his cold rage burned even more brightly.

Even an imbecile could have heard the distinct undertone of warning in the Minister's tone when he spoke to him about his future. It had not even been a few hours, and already the sharks were beginning to plan out their attacks to gain the most power in the vacuum that had been created by the long war.

They disgusted him.

Sometime he wondered what it was like in the other magical nations that covered the world. Were the politicians there just as opportunistic and cold-hearted, or were they better? Or worse? It was something he kept asking himself.

Now he wondered if his search would take him abroad, because there sure as hell wasn't anyone in Britain who could command Dumbledore. As annoying as the old man had been, his power wasn't something to scoff at.

Harry shook himself, bringing his attention back to the job at hand.

He knew that his target had been holed up under Tom's protection for quite a few months now, staying in one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron. But he also knew that the pub's spellwork on its walls prevented direct Apparition onto the floors that held the rooms.

It was also impolite.

Harry sighed. It looked like he was going to have to show his face in the now obviously crowded pub to get to speak to Tom.

He shuffled closer to the wall that led to the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and began typing out the pattern as he had seen Hagrid do so many years ago. He ended with three taps on the brick that was 'three up, two across", Hagrid's gruff voice echoing in his head. Harry stepped through the slowly growing hole that had started in the middle of the last brick he had tapped, letting a rare smile cross his face. That kind of magic never ceased to amaze him.

Harry crept closer to the door that would allow him to enter the famous landmark. He pushed it slightly open and looked inside the room through the crack. It was slightly brighter than he remembered, and way more full than it had been when he had first been here.

He could still remember that first experience of the Wizarding World; the dark, grubby place with a couple of hags in a corner, old wizards talking over a bottle of Firewhiskey, and a little man in a top hat talking to the barkeeper, Tom, who looked rather like a bald walnut.

A loud, raucous voice broke through his thoughts.

"–and then, right when we were being beaten down near Mould-on-the-Wold, You-Know-Who appeared at the head of his army. It was like a lightning bolt struck us; we were all so paralyzed, it was supposed to be our last stand, see, but none of us imagined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would appear. We thought we would end yesterday buried six feet under. And then, out of nowhere, there was this blaze of light! It was like those pictures you see of when Headmaster Dumbledore came out to defeat Grindelwald, right? And out steps this boy, no older than twenty five, and I was like 'Blimey! That's Harry Potter!'."

"He just turns to us and says 'You did well. I'll take over from here.' Or something like that, but we're all still frozen, see. So, Potter just nods at us, and then _wham! _He's gone! All around us, those damn Death Eaters are dropping like flies, and we could see that Potter was going full out. And then, when we all unfrozen, we ready our wands and start stunning them bastards. Potter's magic is whipping up a storm you know, attacking like five foes at once, and he's taking on ten others with his wand!"

"And then, I swear on Merlin's saggy left…" At this the wizard paused and beadily eyed the wide-eyed children, and then said, "Well, you know what I mean…" getting a few appreciative chuckles.

He continued. "He brought You-Know-Who into the fight as well. We'd taken care of the rest by then, and we're just watching this young man battling some ten Death Eaters, and their godforsaken master… _all at once._"

The bar seemed to be frozen in awe at the middle-aged wizard's story. Some of the people seemed to have brought their drinks halfway up to their mouths, and then forgotten about what they were doing, opting instead to stare incredulously at the speaker.

"One by one, Potter finished the Death Eaters off, all the while fending off the attacks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And boy, when the young man finally got rid of the rest, and turned his full attention towards that pasty-faced bastard, was the Dark Lord _pissed_." The last word was hissed out with a menacing undertone.

"And, by golly, I daresay Potter and You-Know-Who had a battle that easily outmatched the one from the old times, the Dumbledore and Grindelwald one. Y'all old folks remember that one? With all the transfiguration of the debris and the cagey defensive styles of both? I wouldn't know; I'm quite young myself, but my old man Jack told me. Well, whatever you do remember, this was ten times better. The two of them didn't stick to just one style. There were curses of all sorts flying, hitting the ground explosively, a couple of them even melted through the walls of the nearby houses!"

"And at one point, You-Know-Who got Potter's wand into his own hand, and was wielding two. We were ready to volunteer to hand over ours, when Potter just shook his head, stood up, and began shooting the same curses _out of his hands_. He had this visible aura of magic, and his eyes were fucking glowing, and he just takes the fight to the surprised Dark Lord, and offs him there and then. He pries his wand, as well as the bastard's, out of his opponent's still warm grasp, and just walks away, nodding to us. No victory speech, no posing for admiration, nothing. He just did what he came to do, and left."

Harry sighed wearily. At least the man was very clear about his thoughts toward Harry. He was appreciating the actions of Harry completing his duties, that's all. Not like the rest of them, who hadn't seemed to register the last sentence the man had spoken. Harry, deciding the crowd was far too large for him to brave, conjured a light cloak and hood to cover himself with. Donning the conjured garments, he pushed the door fully open and strode in, fully ignoring the surprised and suspicious glares directed at him by the bar's occupants, moving directly towards the silent Tom.

"Tom," Harry nodded, before letting his hood fall back enough for his green eyes and fading scar to be visible, "I need to see your… guest."

The barkeeper's eyes widened, but that was the only obvious reaction he outwardly displayed, as he nodded back, and whispered the room number to him. Harry took in the information with a grateful smile, before straightening and taking the stairs behind the bar counter two at a time.

"Hey, Tom! Who in Merlin's name was that?"

"Just an old friend wanting to meet another. That's all."

Harry allowed himself a smirk as he heard the barkeeper's words.

Old friend, indeed.

XXX

The young man sat silently in his dark room, which was flickering in the candlelight. He stared silently at the papers in front of him. For months he had been trying to work out what his father had been doing before he had been suddenly killed.

It seemed as though his father had been playing a far larger game than he or his mother had expected.

There were secrets here, hidden in these agreements, deals, statements and receipts. Secrets that would lead to the person behind all the circumstances that had led to his father's death.

He tensed suddenly.

"You know, your father was a kind of man that I had never imagined before. He, no matter what kind of despicable acts he committed, was always worried about his wife and son. In the end, I guess, he was just a husband who wanted to ensure the safest life for his family." The intruder spoke from the shadowed corner of the room.

"How did you get in?" The young man asked shakily.

"Quite simple, my friend, I used the door."

"I set up extremely dangerous wards there…"

"We both know that wouldn't stop a man like me."

"Yes, well…"

"You could hope, of course." The intruder allowed graciously. "Have you got anything for me? Anything worthwhile after what I asked you to do four months ago?"

Draco Malfoy stood and turned around, facing the corner.

"You never came at a better time, Potter."


End file.
